To Serve With Honor - White Trailer
by Knightmare Frame Razgriz
Summary: As Weiss prepares to apply to a Huntsman Academy, Winter returns to the Schnee Estate on military leave for the first time in over a year; but she is accompanied by an unfamiliar young soldier whom she claims to have taken under her wing. Weiss is alarmed by her beloved sister's uncharacteristic intimacy with this outsider, and decides to fight to reclaim Winter's affection.
1. Part One - Intrusion

**Salutations and welcome, ladies and gentlemen. The following chapters are meant to serve as a preview and promotion for my upcoming RWBY AU, _To Serve With Honor_. Further information can be found in the Author's Note at the end of the second chapter. **

**Read on and enjoy.**

* * *

 **Part One - Intrusion**

* * *

"Weiss, this is Corporal Jonathan Amsel," Winter introduced with an absent gesture as she passed. "He will be staying with us for the remainder of the month while I oversee a portion of his training as an Atlas Military Specialist."

"An honor and a pleasure, Miss Schnee," the young man - the _soldier_ \- stopped in front of her and brought a closed fist across his chest to rest against his shoulder in an informal salute, adding a short bow of his head for good measure. He then glanced over and noticed that Winter had not slowed her pace whatsoever, and scrambled to collect his bulky grey rucksack and catch up.

As far as first impressions went, it wasn't the _worst_ Weiss had run across in her years of encountering her family's numerous associates - but for some reason, it left a bad taste in her mouth. The young man looked to be only a year or two older than Weiss herself; and whenever Winter spoke of him casually, her tone was pleasant and professional, yet still awkwardly stiff, bringing to mind a myriad of implications that Weiss was not just reluctant, but vehemently opposed to consider.

Her concerns only festered as the week progressed. Every day it was the same routine; she would arise at her leisure to find Winter and the soldier sequestered in some room or part of the estate grounds, generally with a table littered with books and papers between them as they both pored over the materials with cups of coffee in hand. She would watch them for a short while before going about her own morning routine, and would run across them later in the cavernous room that the family's personal trainers used for combat instruction, standing a short distance apart as Winter lectured or interrogated the soldier on whatever subject they were covering at the time.

Winter was resplendent as always in formally-styled military regalia, while the soldier was adorned in a slimmer, less armored variation of the uniform that Weiss had seen worn by the guards that accompanied General Ironwood whenever he visited her father. Their stances never changed when they were starting out - Winter held herself with a casual poise, her shoulders always squared and chin held high as she spoke, always looking him straight in the eye when she addressed him, arms at her sides and hands clasped purposefully at the small of her back. The soldier was much looser with his stance; while the rough positioning of his body mirrored Winter's, he was less rigid in his posture, and since he was always facing away from Weiss when she saw them, she could see that one hand looped around his opposite wrist behind his back, and he rolled his free hand at the wrist from time to time as her sister spoke.

In spite of their radically different demeanors,- in her eyes, anyway - the two clearly operated on similar wavelengths, and interacted in a professionally familiar manner. Winter would go on in her lecture, pausing occasionally to quiz the soldier, or when he interjected with a question in a dry or curious tone; her tone would lighten noticeably at the sound of his voice, apparently reassured that she was holding a mutual exchange with another person rather than lecturing at a distant and uninterested audience. Once the floodgates had been opened, their respective barriers fell, and both adopted looser, more comfortable stances: Winter would shift to favor her left leg, her right bending slightly at the knee, and she would cradle her arms at her midriff; and he would widen his stance vaguely and either stuff his hands into his pockets up to his knuckles with his thumbs hooked on the outside of his pants, or else fold his arms across his chest, gesturing with one hand whenever he spoke. His arms became expressive whenever he would speak at length, but no matter what, he never seemed to break Winter's gaze; and judging by the subtle shifting of her sister's face as conversations proceeded, the soldier and Winter shared a preference for communicating with their eyes.

Weiss wasn't sure what to make of that, except that she felt... Oddly, that Winter always seemed the happiest, or at least contented, whenever the eye-conversations took place. The eldest Schnee daughter's slate blue orbs came alive, radically different from the lidded gaze of contempt that had contributed in part to her moniker of 'Ice Queen' amongst the less couth members of Atlesian high society. She gave the soldier the entirety of her attention, eyes held fully open and bangs pushed aside to allow access to her full range of vision - a courtesy that Weiss noted was only very rarely afforded to close friends and family such as herself, yet was apparently expected by both parties during these sessions. The 'odd' emotion stewing in Weiss's vision was soon recognizable as jealousy, at both the apparent and the implied closeness between the two that she could only look forward to having with her sister once in a blue moon.

* * *

Jealousy morphed into raw envy when Winter and the soldier danced.

In a way, every bout between the two took on the appearance of a carefully choreographed routine. Winter's prized saber lashed out in streaks of quicksilver, the blade leaving trails of light in its wake. She crossed the training floor in long, elegant strides, and struck and parried with graceful twirls, the twin tails of her coat flaring with the motions. She pressed offense and defense with her weapon held in her dominant hand, the other tucked carefully out of the way against the small of her back unless she chose to split her saber and make use of the smaller rapier blade hidden within its core.

The soldier - his inexperience clear in everything from his struggles against Winter's ferocious pace, to his excited and wasteful strikes whenever he managed to grasp the initiative - may have been less competent with his weapon, but compensated with strength, adaptability, and an admittedly impressive grasp of footwork. His weapon - a broadsword the length and width of his leg with a cylindrical steel core, and a guard that resembled a pistol grip set parallel to the hilt - was wielded with conviction and at least a little practice, striking out in powerful sweeps and deflecting jabs and swipes. But while his blade work might have been mediocre and only just coming along, the soldier compensated by ably matching Winter's elegant rhythm with his own unique melody.

When the two came together in close quarters and stood determined to force the bout within arm's length, Weiss couldn't call the engagement anything but what it was: A dance, ever-changing and flowing from one style to the next by the cues of a silent accompaniment. Winter and the soldier circled one another in a primal, sinuous salsa, testing their respective defenses and never once breaking eye contact as their gazes flashed with warnings and promises that had Weiss blushing hotly just from watching. The beat would change, and one or the other would dive headlong into the lead of a furious waltz, the previous warmth replaced by a sub-zero flame around which the dancers trod with precision, constantly searching for openings and opportunities to steal the initiative from their opponent.

Winter held the lead more often than not; but the soldier was cunning, pressing against her defenses with raw power and drawing on superior reserves of stamina to apply continuous pressure, ultimately creating the slightest crack as the Schnee was forced to yield and regroup under the unrelenting assault. He would slip in and, for a few stanzas, he would seem to push Winter to the edge; and then in a blink, she would lash out with a single measured strike and break his momentum, effectively recapturing the lead, and the cycle would begin anew. The dance would continue for what seemed like ages, and Weiss would remain captivated throughout the entire performance, until a grand crescendo brought the number to its final refrain.

Winter and the soldier usually ended their bouts at the same approximate level of exhaustion. While the former was more experienced in hiding it than the latter, Weiss could recognize the signs in her sister - the slight panting and visible effort to control her breathing, and an ethereal sheen to her alabaster skin. The pair would separate and the tempo would slow, and after a period of wordless teasing and half-hearted exchanges, one of them would strike out for the final blow.

The soldier had yet to emerge with a definitive victory; but he had on several occasions forced a dignified defeat, and at least one desperate stalemate. On most occasions, however, the final stanza consisted of less than a dozen clashes of blades, before a conclusive blow sent him to the ground. But whether the soldier ended the performance flat on his back or on his knees in defeat, the first exchange after the match had ended remained the same: With Winter standing tall, dignified, and triumphant, and the soldier laid low and submissive at the ground beneath her feet, held at the point of her saber, their gazes never separated, and mirrored the same pride and warmth and... _something_. Something that Weiss knew that she had to experience to recognize, and something that felt so _wrong_ to be seen in a look shared between her beloved sister and this... _dog_.

The two would break to clean up and discuss the match, and Weiss would occupy herself elsewhere in the estate for a spell before joining them for lunch. Conversation was always light, and the soldier was nothing less than courteous. He was stiff and out of place for the first few days, but grew more comfortable and familiar with the mannerisms associated with the setting and the company over time, in addition to contributing more frequently and readily to the discussion.

Weiss endeavored to avoid his gaze as much as possible without arousing suspicion, but inevitably ended up making eye contact for a period, distracted and - though she would never admit to it aloud - being spellbound by his stunningly blue irises. The cobalt depths always seemed to hold something new each time she catch them - curiosity, contemplation, determination - but after long enough, they would morph into guarded amusement, and no amount of further examination would reveal anything more than what he wanted her to see. Lunch would end shortly after, and the three would part again for a time.

Every other day, Weiss would meet with Winter at an outdoor pavilion on the expansive grounds encompassing the estate. The sisters would discuss Weiss's training, and follow up with a short series of spars highlighting areas of possible improvement in her swordsmanship or Semblance use, and end with a summary of the session's progress, to be followed by more casual and familiar conversation.

But ever since she first observed Winter's training with the soldier, Weiss was constantly making comparisons between every interaction, searching for every tic. Trying - sometimes desperately - to engage Winter in the same way that _he_ did. Adding variation to her vernacular to resemble the way she had heard military officers and Specialists speaking casually at social events; adapting her stance to match Winter's, and progressively loosening it as time passed; even insisting during a spar that they increase their pace of battle. The first two appeared to elicit some small degree of warmth and amusement, but ultimately resulted in no real shift in the dynamic; while the last lead only to a rather humiliating defeat as Weiss utterly failed to adapt to Winter's rhythm of combat.

* * *

Finally, three weeks into the month, Weiss could stand it no more. "Sister?" she asked out of the blue, breaking the silence that followed their instructional debriefing.

"Yes, Weiss?" Winter replied absently, her gaze fixed on some point further out in the landscape that Weiss had given up on trying to locate. The younger Schnee resisted the urge to grit her teeth; Winter hardly even bothered to offer the courtesy of eye contact outside of mealtime conversation anymore.

"Why exactly is that... _soldier_ , here?" She failed to completely disguise the peculiar undertone when saying the word, and Winter finally turned and regarded her with a curious quirk of her brow.

"You are referring to Corporal Amsel? Weiss, I explained it when we arrived: I am preparing him for-"

"-I mean," Weiss cut in, fighting back a wince as her sister's visible eye narrowed in annoyance, but unable to bear having the same information repeated again in a voice meant for addressing a slow child, "Why does that training necessitate him staying _here_ , with us? Wouldn't the military base nearby have been a sufficient location?" Winter's sharp gaze softened, and she offered an uncharacteristic shrug of indifference and glanced aside to the landscape, much to Weiss's ire.

"Purely my own convenience, I suppose. I had no interest in returning to a military facility during my furlough unless absolutely necessary; and it is not as if we are lacking in spare rooms for guests."

"Wait, you're on _leave_ right now?" Weiss balked, "And you're _training a_ _soldier_?! That's completely unreasonable! General Ironwood has no right to-!"

"General Ironwood protested the decision, but I volunteered my time for the task," Winter cut her off sternly. "I usually find myself with more time on my hands at home than I know what to do with. Corporal Amsel is a quick study, and serves as an excellent sparring partner to maintain peak form; it is a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"He is a common soldier that barely knows how to use the blade he carries!" Weiss protested derisively.

"While he admittedly lacks experience with his new weapon, he is more than capable of compensating with his quick analytical mind and tactical acumen, physical strength and conditioning, and experience in combat against Grimm and human opponents alike," Winter retorted quickly and decisively, meeting Weiss's challenging glare with a cold stare from both slate eyes, "And I find it interesting that you, having observed his regular bouts with me, believe yourself to be in a position to pass judgement on his abilities, given the result of our own most recent spars." Weiss flushed deeply in embarrassment and shrank back, bowing her head and finding great interest in the surface of the table in front of her. Winter winced slightly as she recognized her own venom and frowned lightly in regret and shame at her loss of composure. For several awkward moments thereafter, the sisters sat in silence.

Finally, Winter sighed lightly. "What is this about, Weiss?" she asked softly, gazing at the top of her younger sister's head. Weiss looked up hesitantly from her lap, and Winter was staring into the same curious and sad ice-blue eyes that had asked her not to leave the night she before she had joined the military.

"You're home on leave for the first and longest time in over a year... I'm here preparing to enter a Huntsman Academy... And yet, you're spending most of your time training some no-name soldier that you hold no obligation to whatsoever. Why, Winter? Why are you doing this for him? _What is he to you?_ " Weiss asked softly, pleadingly - desperately.

"I..." Winter was at a loss for words, and Weiss almost felt a tear spring forth as her older sister broke her gaze again. "... He has a name, Weiss. His name is Jonathan Amsel, and..." she trailed off and seemed to fight a furious internal struggle as Weiss stood by helplessly, silently pleading for an answer. "... And I can't tell you. I would if I could, Weiss, but... it's just not my place."

It was Winter's turn to watch helplessly as Weiss sprang to her feet and swiftly crossed the smooth cobblestone floor of the pavilion, stopping at the entrance to turn her head part way back towards Winter.

"... I want to fight him," she ground out, disguising her welling tears and indignation behind a mask of anger. "Tomorrow, I want to fight him, and I'll _prove_ to you that he's not worthy of your attentions."

"Weiss!" It was too late. She was already halfway back to the manor, while Winter remained in her seat at the pavilion.

* * *

She didn't see Winter for the rest of the day, secluding herself in her rooms with her rapier, Myrtenaster, and taking dinner at her desk. Clyde, the Schnee family's head butler, and Weiss's de facto father-figure in her youth when her father was regularly absent, had fixed her with a concerned stare that she had to fight to ignore when he delivered her meal, but did not press the issue until he returned to find Weiss lashing out furiously at a Schnee Dust Company training android with glyphs and sword strikes, dismembering the mechanical humanoid swiftly and then panting slightly as she towered over the robotic remains, glaring hatefully at the far wall.

"Miss Weiss." The resolve and naked concern of her normally cheerful man-servant's accent broke the heiress from her emotional reverie, and she looked to the man in surprise and a little embarrassment.

"What is it, Clyde?"

"Your sister has informed me of your intentions to challenge her... Subordinate," the mustachioed gentlemen seemed to deliberate for an instant before settling on the term.

"And I suppose you're here to dissuade me," Weiss muttered sourly, replacing Myrtenaster in the sheath at her waist and turning to watch as another SDC droid entered the chamber and gathered the remains of its fellow mechanical.

"I'm here to inform you of the possible repercussions of the match," Clyde clarified respectfully. At her curious glance, he elaborated. "While you may have secured your father's grudging approval to attend an Academy by defeating his creation, he of course remains opposed to your decision to become a Huntress, and may use the match to force the issue to his agenda."

"And you doubt my capability to defeat some nameless military dog?" Weiss demanded, not a little hurt by Clyde's implications.

"I have no doubts as to your combat ability, Miss Weiss," Clyde declared diplomatically, and her pain sharpened as she realized that he had not denied the accusation, "That being said, I feel obligated to inform you that, while Corporal Amsel is fairly new to the formal blade style of a Huntsman, he has the advantage of over a year of combat experience against the Grimm in Mantle's interior; he has also seen battle against the fighters of the White Fang, many of them longtime veterans of their cause."

"But did he defeat them?"

"If I recall, of the terrorists he has faced, only a handful can claim to walk free. Many more currently reside in the prisons of Atlas, while a majority... Are no longer among the living," he finished with a grimace of reluctance.

"All that tells me is that he is a killer - just like every other one of the military's thuggish soldiers - and that he is smart enough to take advantage of the weapons and equipment supplied to the army by the SDC to defeat opponents of lesser training and skill," Weiss sniffed haughtily. A little part of her mind told her that she was wrong - that she was in denial, and unwilling to lend any merit to her opponent's skill because of his occupation and her own wild emotions. She quashed the tiny voice ruthlessly as Clyde let out of a long, sorrowful sigh.

"His experience and your own preconceptions notwithstanding, Corporal Amsel is not without his own legitimate motives for seeking to win this match," the portly butler supplied neutrally.

"Yes, I'm sure the embarrassment of one of Ironwood's soldiers losing out to a daughter of the Schnee family not even into a Huntsman Academy would be substantial for the Atlas military," Weiss dismissed with a wave, turning as a new training droid emerged from the same doorway as the first. She drew Myrtenaster once more and listened with half an ear as Clyde muttered to himself.

"More so than you realize, Miss Weiss," he finally raised his voice to directly address her. Before she could quash her pride and ask him to elaborate, however, he had collected the tray with the remnants of her meal, and the training droid was advancing slowly and deliberately towards her.

As the door to her chambers closed with a resounding click, and she set to work dismantling the new droid, Weiss was also fighting constantly inside her own head to suppress the niggling voice at the back of her mind; it insisted that she open her eyes and dig deeper into the situation, to reconsider her impassioned crusade against the _interloper_ that so dared to waste her sister's time and steal her affections-

With a great cry of rage, Weiss summoned a series of glyphs to surround the droid, and darted about the hapless automaton with a vengeance, her swipes slicing through joints until the unit lay in even more pieces than the last, its head skewered deeply by Myrtenaster as the Schnee heiress panted in exhaustion.

Tomorrow, she would prove herself - she would banish the lowly thug from her great house, and Winter would realize that she was wasting her precious time and energy on _him,_ along with all of the time that she had already wasted over the years of serving as one of Ironwood's tools. Time that could have, and _should be_ spent on her own flesh and blood - her family.

* * *

The morning light shone through translucent pale blue drapes as a knock at the door roused Weiss from her slumber, accompanied by a servant informing her of the time set for the match. With time to spare, the heiress bathed and dressed in her combat regalia, reverently loading dust capsules into Myrtenaster and sheathing the weapon at her hip. Chin held high and with a purpose in her stride, she made her way to the training chamber.

To her great surprise and a tiny bit of dismay, an audience had already gathered to witness the bout. Several finely dressed servants lined the field of battle, chattering in soft voices that quieted once they witnessed her entrance. Clyde also waited, silently and patiently, and stood alongside the two main sources of Weiss's distress: Her father, Jacques Schnee; and the head of the Atlas military, General James Ironwood.

Burying her unease deep down and schooling her features into determination, she approached the pair and stopped a few paces away, waiting for the two to glance away from their conversation and recognize her presence before offering her salutations.

"Father," she greeted, her tone carefully tailored into confidence, and an undertone of reverence; her father nodded lightly in recognition, and she lit up inside as the corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a tiny, barely noticeable smile of approval. "General Ironwood," she turned to the imposing man, shaven clean and cutting a dashing figure in his formal military dress.

"Miss Schnee," the general returned with a nod and a more genuine smile than her father's. "I must say, I was rather surprised to hear that you intended to challenge one of my soldiers, particularly on such short notice; your conviction in the matter is quite admirable."

"I confess that I cannot claim to have been deeply considering the implications of my challenge when I issued it," Weiss admitted with demure candidness, at which the general chuckled warmly, "However, that will not stop me from witnessing for myself the capabilities of the soldier that my sister has chosen to take such a vested interest in."

"I can assure you, for his young age and short career, Corporal Amsel's record is quite distinguished; and his tutelage under Winter will only have sharpened his skills from military training and combat. I am confident that he will offer you a worthy challenge," Ironwood promised firmly; as he spoke, however, his eyes drifted minutely to the end of the field, and as he finished speaking, Weiss turned to witness the object of the general's distraction.

The soldier waited patiently at the opposite end of the field... Alongside her sister, and the pair exchanged small words and veiled smiles that fueled the red creeping into the edges of Weiss's vision. Turning back to her father, the younger Schnee daughter bowed her head faintly in deference.

"By your leave, Father," she intoned politely.

"You will make me proud, Weiss," Jacques nodded, speaking with surety, and a familiar undertone that promised consequences should he be proven wrong.

Spinning on her heel, Weiss strode to the opposite end of the field, and took up a position opposite the soldier. His cobalt eyes sharpened in recognition of her arrival, and he offered her a courteous nod as he spoke his final piece to Winter. Her sister's gaze, on the other hand, adopted a dulled sheen of concern; but as she made to cross the field towards Weiss, the soldier called her before she could get too far. He snapped to attention and offered her a ceremonious salute, along with a few words that were lost to the distance; and Winter brightened ever so slightly and turned her body fully to return the gesture, before resuming her journey towards Weiss.

By the time she had crossed the distance, however, her worried look had returned and doubled. She stopped at arm's length from Weiss, and positioned herself to present her back to their father.

"It's already far too late to call off this foolishness," Winter declared with a slight grimace.

"I would not, even if I had the opportunity," Weiss replied. "I'm going to show you, Winter - he's not worth your time."

"You think that I would have stuck my neck out for him if I thought he was completely worthless?" the Specialist quirked a brow at the idea.

"I think that he has something over you, or that he's playing on your feelings to do this. I'm saving you from disappointment," Weiss insisted, refusing to back down.

"How gallant and entirely presumptuous of you, little sister," Winter rolled her eyes and cocked her hip. "Whatever happens now, we'll discuss after the match is over." Her features softened again, and her final words were spoken softly. "And whatever happens, Weiss... You are and will always be my beloved sister, and I'm sorry that I've disappointed you as I have."

Without another word, Winter turned sharply on her heel, and moved to take her place between their father and Ironwood as the official of the match.

Weiss and the soldier took several steps forward, and previously unseen lines on the floor flashed with pale blue light; a display came to life on the wall opposite the spectators, and two identical green bars appeared, filling completely to represent each fighter's Aura.

Winter stepped forward as the fighters approached and stopped twenty paces from one another. "The first combatant to reduce their opponent's Aura into the red will be declared the winner," she announced. Before she could continue, however, General Ironwood took a step forward to a side, and whispered something in her ear. Whatever the general said caused the Specialist to bristle, and she snapped around to protest, only to grudgingly acquiesce under her superior officer's stern glare.

"A last-minute notice, to both combatants," Winter very nearly growled the words, "Although this is a voluntary and unofficial private match - it will also be serving as a benchmark evaluation, to determine Corporal Amsel's continued enrollment in the Specialist program. As such, should he be defeated... He will be immediately stripped of his title, and returned to duty in the Atlas Foreign Legion."

Weiss's eyes snapped open as a great leaden weight materialized and settled in the pit of her stomach. She looked to the soldier, but was again surprised to find that he simply smiled wryly, and cobalt orbs settled on Ironwood with a cold fire that promised retribution. As quickly as the look appeared however, it was gone; and Weiss was forced to wonder if she had simply imagined it as he met her gaze once more.

"Combatants, step forward to meet your opponent."

Winter took a step back as Weiss and the soldier moved to within arm's length. The younger Schnee daughter was conflicted, but refused to allow it to appear on her face while in the presence of her father; settling instead on a blank stare and a slight downward quirk of her lips.

The soldier met her gaze evenly, and had the gall to smile pleasantly. "Well, Snowflake," he spoke, and Weiss couldn't stop herself from bristling at the despicable nickname, "As you now know, my career is at stake in this fight. So don't expect me to go easy on you."

"I would be insulted if you gave anything less than your best," Weiss shot back coldly. "Not that it will be enough to defeat me."

"Pretty words from a pretty face, Snowflake," he grinned, taking two casual steps backwards and wrapping a hand around the hilt of the broadsword slung across his back. Weiss mirrored the movement, resting her hand on the hilt of Myrtenaster and shifting into a ready stance, coiled and set to lunge in for the first strike.

"At my command," Winter called from the side, but the words barely registered to Weiss as she did her level best to stare holes in the twin cobalt pools before her; the subjects of her ire only continued to twinkle with amusement.

"Ready. Begin!"

Cobalt flashed, and Weiss lunged.

* * *

 **Part One End.**

 **Next: Part Two - Rivalry**


	2. Part Two - Rivalry

**Part Two - Rivalry**

* * *

A pair of boots thundered across the immaculate white stone of the training room floor, and for a split second, Weiss faltered; the tall, lean trooper's presence seemed to have doubled as soon as he took off at a full sprint to close the distance between them, and before the heiress could blink, a broadsword was flashing through the air in a downward draw-stroke, on course for the crook of her neck to cleave her in twain from collar to hip.

The imminent danger startled her into action, and a hasty sidestep, made even more awkward by her heels, saw the large blade whipping past her shoulder by inches; the soldier was quick to transform the momentum of the strike into another hefty waist-height slash. Drawing Myrtenaster from her hip at last, she twisted her upper body to face her opponent and found her footing once more, skipping back just out of range of the blade before offering a sharp riposte at the soldier's stomach.

A roll of his wrist brought his sword upright, held from the hip and supported by a gloved hand behind its length, and he jabbed out against her strike with the flat of his blade, the two weapons colliding with a short crystalline ring of steel against steel. Apparently deciding to carry on with this odd defensive maneuver, the soldier met Weiss's focused gaze with a taunting smirk, even as he deflected each one of her subsequent series of strikes by shifting the angle of his sword and thrusting his arms out to cancel her force with his own.

Growing frustrated as she was being pushed back even while holding the offensive, Weiss ended her barrage with a sharp twisting jab at his legs; the soldier shuffled back slightly to dodge, allowing her to retreat several steps and regroup for a different approach.

The two fighters held their respective stances for a moment, observing one another with contrasting demeanors. While Weiss stood tall and glared fiercely, her breath short from the speed and intensity of the skirmish, rapier held before her at the ready; the soldier hunched low to the ground, his broadsword clasped in a firm two-handed grip and pointed towards her.

"Tired, Snowflake?" he asked conversationally, rolling his wrists and rocking from side to side in his crouch as though stretching. Weiss dared not dignify the taunt, and instead lit a small barrier glyph above and behind the soldier's head.

Dashing forward, she lunged in blade-first to impale him; when he moved to deflect her strike, she slammed her foot down within inches of contact, and twisted elegantly through the air above him, slicing at the back of his neck as she passed. The strike met resistance from his Aura - first blood in a sparring match. Catching the small glyph with her heel, she sprang up and away, narrowly avoiding a broad sweep of his blade.

"First blood to Weiss Schnee," Winter announced, somehow managing to sound simultaneously proud and annoyed. Weiss imagined her father smirking triumphantly at a stone-faced General Ironwood.

Landing a good distance away in a crouch, she stood tall and allowed herself a glance at the Aura meters on the wall - only to barely keep her jaw from dropping at the miniscule sliver missing from the soldier's bar. _'How much Aura does he have?!'_ her mind wailed indignantly.

"That was a clever move, Miss Schnee," the man called out, coming fully to his feet and letting his blade fall to his side in one hand, the other reaching up and massaging the back of his neck. "I suppose I should've expected the acrobatics, given my training," he chuckled and grinned brightly.

The implication made Weiss bristle, but she held herself back to continue scanning for openings.

"I can also see that my superiors are a bit upset with me," he continued, "So if it's alright with you, I'm gonna kick up the tempo a bit."

Weiss blinked; and then he was halfway to her, his sword mid-swing.

He wasn't lying when he said that he was taking up the tempo. She was on the back foot, parrying furiously against a barrage of powerful two-handed blows. His form was adequate; but hers was excellent, and she took advantage of the difference in their training to sneak in a riposte every few beats. Unfortunately, the damage was superficial at best, and she felt herself tiring quickly under the offensive; still, she took some pride in that he had yet to break her defense.

And in an instant, her defenses - her pride, as well as her wrist - buckled, and she was flying backwards, landing and rolling messily to a stop flat on her backside far away. A short glance to the readout noted that she had lost just over twenty percent of her Aura with that single blow. On the sidelines, her father's brow was creased, while General Ironwood's own was quirked in vague approval, and Klein met her gaze with evident concern.

Finally returning to her opponent, Weiss found that he had stopped smiling. Cobalt had iced over, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line as he stared her down, slowly rolling the wrist that held his blade, while his free hand was held out in front of him, clenching and unclenching slowly.

Weiss scrambled to her feet and slipped back into her guarded stance as the soldier circled her at a distance, his eyes still fixed on hers; her pulse beat in time with his every measured step. Then, she lunged.

She was on the offensive again, attacking with a chain of a thrusts and swipes alternating between his center and his limbs, and he parried most of her attacks ably with twists and sweeps of his larger blade. As with previous attacks, a strike would slip through every so often; but he offered few indications of noticing when she did land a blow, and she could imagine the meters above reflecting just how little he really cared for her 'one thousand paper cuts' approach.

He broke through her momentum again, stepping inside of Weiss's guard and catching her blade to his side in the junction of the cross guard of his sword before freeing one of his hands and unleashing a fierce haymaker to her midsection, knocking the wind from her lungs in a single ragged gasp; he then followed through with a sweeping kick that sent her tumbling to the stone floor, and attempted to finish the fight then and there with a ground punch that would've knocked her out cold, had she not rolled away and responded with a blast of Dust-induced fire from the chambers of Myrtenaster.

The fireball propelled him across the training field to fall flat on his back, groaning and steaming slightly; above him, his meter fell sharply, likely a result of being caught unawares by the attack.

Weiss's own readout was less than stellar, reading in the yellow at around thirty percent from that single combination of simple hand-to-hand maneuvers. At that moment, she opted to follow the soldier's example and discarded all blade dueling decorum, channeling a line of glyphs in front of her and firing off a chain of fireballs at his downed form.

To the man's credit, he reacted as well as could be expected; the first in the series impacted against the flat of his blade, splashing back against his Aura, while the rest were hastily maneuvered around or dispersed with sloppy swipes. His meter was now just into the yellow, at fifty percent.

' _Dust is the only way I'm going to win this now, it seems,'_ a small scowl marred her features at the thought, even as she released the catch on her rapier's revolver chamber and allowed it to cycle to brilliant yellow Dust. She pointed the blade in her opponent's direction and stabbed, releasing a jagged bolt of lightning which ricocheted off of the slanted flat of his weapon; a second, third, and fourth followed in quick succession, but only the last managed to clip his side, bringing him to forty percent.

He tried to close the distance again, but she backpedalled, unleashing bolt after bolt of electricity that he was forced to stop and redirect. The chamber was exhausted quickly, and in the time that it took her to cycle to Ice Dust, he was back in range and ducking beneath her retaliatory slice to slash upwards, catching her across the front and stinging harshly, even through her Aura; she didn't need to see the meters to know that one more hit would finish her.

In a pale blue flash, ice materialized at his feet, encasing his legs up to mid-calf. Weiss retreated, and then sliced her rapier upwards, causing a chain of jagged spires of ice to erupt from the ground in a line, ending when a crystal plunged into his gut with enough force to break the ice holding him and send him flying into the air. He was hanging there for a long moment, back arched as he let out a sharp cry of pain; and then he fell, hitting the floor with a sickening crunch of unnaturally contorted limbs.

She couldn't help but to wince at the unpleasant noise, but opted to glance at the meters; he was holding at the lower edge of the yellow zone, about seventeen percent, while she remained somewhere in the middle at thirty. He had taken some lasting physical damage, but she needed to put in a finishing blow.

Her father was looking at Ironwood with a smug half-grin, while the General's gaze was grave as he stared at the soldier's crumpled form. Klein looked distinctly conflicted, and… Winter's face was expressionless as she stared Weiss down; then, she jabbed her chin slightly in the soldier's direction - _'Finish it.'_

Weiss paced deliberately towards the downed man, Myrtenaster held at the ready, expecting him to jump to his feet and coming flying at her at any moment; but she reached his body only to find him sprawled uncomfortably, drawing deep, labored breaths, his sword resting across his chest and clutched loosely.

"Any last words?" she finally managed, standing over and away from him, the point of her rapier poised above his chest for a conclusive stab. The soldier continued to stare up into space for a moment, before his eyes rolled slowly, catching her gaze and sucking her in as his mouth slowly formed small, quiet words.

" _In Combat… I act without Passion… without Hate,"_ he recited, pausing to cough harshly. And then, she started as his eyes came alive suddenly, the edge of his mouth curling up into a pleasant smile, and she now noted his weapon - the shotgun now resting in his hands, pointed up at her chest.

" _The Mission is sacred; and I carry it out- Until the end."_

The firearm flashed and barked loudly, and Weiss absently noted that she was, for the third time in that short bout, flying backward through the air. She closed her eyes in flight and let out a small, disappointed sigh; and then she hit the ground and slid, coming to a stop in the middle of the floor and lying there.

"Weiss Schnee's Aura is in the red. The victor is Corporal Jonathan Amsel!"

And then chaos reigned as the spectators scrambled to attend to the combatants.

* * *

"You fought well today, Weiss," Jacques declared warmly as soon as the pair had reached the security of his study.

Weiss visibly twitched as she narrowly restrained the urge to pinch herself; she recovered and opted instead to gape unabashedly at her mustachioed father. "B-but, I was defeated!" she pointed out in confusion, her arms folded self-consciously across her chest. "Corporal Amsel made that quite clear when he shot me at point blank…" she added sheepishly.

"The soldier's tactics were far outside the realm of honorable conduct in a one-on-one duel!" His knuckles met the polished surface of his ornate desk; Weiss flinched harshly at the similarity between the sound and the report of the shotgun that had struck her not ten minutes ago. Jacques took note of the reaction and winced. "I'm sorry for startling you, my dear," he apologized sincerely, settling back into his seat slowly and sighing. "I suppose I've allowed myself to become aggravated by James's blatant manipulation in this series of events."

"What do you mean by that?" Weiss quirked a brow incredulously. "What does General Ironwood have to do with anything that just happened?"

"Quite literally everything, I'm certain," Jacques grumbled, more to himself than to her, before clearing his throat and speaking up. "The good General has an unfortunate tendency to express his… Grievances, involving the business arrangements between the SDC and the Atlas military through personal slights such as this. I have little doubt in my mind that, following the recent price hike on our sale price for combat androids, James decided to run Winter ragged in the field to convince her to come home for a change, appealed to her sense of charity and nobility by pointing out our poor soldier with a sob story about his career and wasted potential to get her to train him, and allowed the pieces to fall into place for this entire rigmarole."

"That… Sounds fairly far-fetched, if you don't mind my saying so," Weiss replied hesitantly.

"And that's what makes it so typically James!" Jacques let out a bark of laughter. "Militarily, the man is so painfully conventional with his tactics and strategies that a Grimm could predict his moves; but politically, well… He certainly didn't become the leader of Atlas and commander-in-chief of its armed forces by merit alone after he undermined and deposed the leadership of Mantle. If nothing else, you have to give the man credit for maneuvering and cajoling an entire demographic of the population to voluntarily resign itself to subservience and poverty," his voice grew quieter and more distant at the last part, turning his chair to the side and staring at a set of paintings on the wall with an unfocused gaze.

Weiss turned to examine the pieces herself. There were three of them - two portraits separated by a landscape. The first portrait to the left was of her mother's father, Nicholas Schnee, the founder of the original Schnee Dust Company. Nicholas cut a tall and imposing figure and was originally trained as a Huntsman, reflected by a barrel chest, broad shoulders, thickly muscled limbs, and a strong jaw beneath a full-face beard of curly snow-white hair, offsetting his clean and bald head. Contrary to Jacques's preference for crisp white business attire, Nicholas was adorned in a rough dark brown traveler's cloak, parted to show a heavy tan cold-weather jacket, the collar trimmed with some type of dark grey fur, along with black cargo pants and heavy brown work boots. His right foot rested on a stout pedestal, with his right hand resting on his thigh, and his left hand resting at his hip. The pose made him appear every bit the rugged frontiersman that he was when he first set out to find the Dust deposit that jump-started the SDC's rise to prominence; and in stark contrast to every other portrait in the Schnee Mansion, Nicholas's features were set in a soft, grandfatherly smile.

She discreetly brushed away a tear as she moved on to the landscape. The painting depicted a sprawling city skyline, draped with the warm reds and oranges of a setting sun over the central spire of a massive cathedral. Brown shingled rooftops were interspersed with marred blue-greens of the oxidized copper paneling that was characteristic of the Gothic style of architecture, and a great river bisected the cityscape in the mid-ground, spanned in several places by stout single-arch stone bridges. This was the city of Mantle, the classical capital of the nation, and once the seat of its burgeoning Empire.

Finally, the second portrait depicted an uncanny likeness of Weiss's own father - or it would seem, if not for the painted man's receding hairline, rounder figure, and chosen attire. He wore an unbuttoned black double-breasted coat with an open button-and-strap collar atop a white ruffle-front shirt, along with a white cravat tucked around his neck, and a grey steel badge on the left breast of his coat of a staff ringed by a crown - the sigil and standard of the Empire of Mantle.

This was her father's father - Otto Leopold, the last Chancellor of the Empire of Mantle, executed by the last King of Mantle for the failed invasion of Vacuo that turned the tide of the Great War in Vale's favor.

Weiss had long suspected that her father had used his earliest influence with the SDC to strike his relation to the nobility of Old Mantle from all official records; the portrait on the wall, while being genuine canvas, would automatically cycle to a different, unfamiliar white-haired gentleman that bore a passing resemblance to her father, whenever he had guests in the study. General Ironwood was undoubtedly aware of the relation, seeing as her father rarely if ever bothered to change the painting when he alone was visiting; but it still carried the unspoken question of what the General thought of having a member of Mantlese nobility in control of the largest corporate entity, of any sort, in Atlas.

Her reverie was broken as her father heaved a great sigh, spinning his chair away from the paintings to face her once more. "Regardless of the outcome, I must again express my discontent with your insistence on pursuing this foolish errand of becoming a Huntress," Jacques said tiredly. Weiss bristled sharply and shifted to protest, but stopped dead when he raised an open hand. " _However_ , I am a man of my word. You succeeded in the trial that I set before you, and fought honorably and for all accounts successfully against an experienced Atlesian Legionnaire who was trained by your very own sister."

"A Legionnaire?" Weiss interjected confusedly. "Not a soldier?"

"Worse," Jacques grimaced. "The Atlas Foreign Legion consists of non-Atlesian volunteers fighting under the banner of Atlas for the distant promise of legal citizenship. The Legion is primarily made up of former citizens of Mantle, trying to secure a future for themselves and their families; but the rest are criminals and savants of conflict, looking to escape from judgement by hiding behind the banner of another nation, and getting their thrills from killing Grimm and White Fang extremists in the cities of Old Mantle and the border of Atlas proper."

"... But aren't the people of Mantle also the people of Atlas?" Weiss asked quietly. Jacques's face softened, and he stared down at his desk for a long moment, before looking up and meeting her eyes, his gaze hardening once more as he spoke.

"History is written by the victors, Weiss," he said firmly, "And Atlas was allowed to exist and become as it is today because we were able to achieve our victory from the Empire's defeat. The people of Mantle once had the opportunity to share in our success, but they instead chose to squander their hopes on fleeting dreams of conquest." Jacques turned his chair and climbed slowly to his feet, moving to the outer edge of his desk and gazing up at the painting of Mantle.

"If you take one lesson from me, my daughter, let it be this: Your skills and talents will be put to better use by committing them to your own survival, so that you may apply them for the benefit of others later on in the future."

Weiss nodded demurely, and then stiffened as her father moved to stand in front of her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "You have proven that you have a great many skills to offer already, Weiss," he smiled down at her softly, "And I have no doubt in my mind that if you apply them to your ambitions, you will acquire many more as time goes on - and at the end of it all, you will have much to offer our people, and all people across Remnant, as my successor." She relaxed and beamed back at him resolutely.

"Thank you, Father," she nodded slightly without breaking his gaze, "I won't let you down."

"I know you won't, Weiss; I have faith in you." Jacques stepped back and turned away to face his desk, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Winter found herself wanting in the face of her responsibilities to the family, and fled to Ironwood to serve as a simple military bureaucrat and to waste her talents on charity cases such as that _Legionnaire_ ," he scoffed lightly, and Weiss winced, grateful that it went unseen. "It pains me to see that her education has been so wasted that she is unable to impart it upon a single student."

"I imagine that it would be difficult to impart a proper societal education unto such an ill-mannered creature," Weiss offered amicably, grimacing internally at the bitter taste of the words even as Jacques let out a bark of cultured laughter.

"I suppose you have a point," he sighed as he returned to his chair. Settling back and pulling a small sheaf of papers from a drawer, his attentions immediately returned to business. "You should rest, Weiss; Klein will wake you for lunch."

"Of course, Father. By your leave," she stepped back and bowed her head slightly in deference before spinning on her heel and quietly departing.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without much fanfare. Winter and the soldier had apparently left with General Ironwood after the duel, and returned shortly before dinner; Winter was scowling visibly, while her subordinate simply appeared to be tired. He excused himself from dinner that night, leaving Winter alone to field questions from their father about the General's reaction to the outcome of the duel, along with a few snide jabs at her teaching abilities from Whitley. Their mother was notably absent, as usual.

After dinner, Weiss was pacing the halls absently, taking a roundabout path to her room that would lead her past Winter's room. However, passing through a wing far removed from the well-traveled halls of the manor, she took note of an open balcony door, and a pair of distant voices. She moved in to investigate, and discerned that one of the speakers was her sister.

"... Had her on the back foot, and you would have been able to cripple her mobility with the techniques that I've taught you. You could have made _any number_ of other maneuvers and achieved an acceptable victory - and yet instead, you chose to _humiliate_ the both of us with juvenile taunting and by _decking_ my little sister in the stomach with a _right cross_ ," Winter ranted, and Weiss could picture the older woman pacing across the width of the balcony and coming to stop in front of the offending party, who at this point could only be the soldier.

"Actually, it was a haymaker, and I was aiming for her sternum," that _audacious son of a-_ the _soldier_ corrected dryly, and she could imagine not only the man's blank expression, his cobalt eyes twinkling with mirth and a corner of his mouth quirked minutely upward. She could also see quite clearly her sister's clenched teeth and enraged glare boring a hole through his skull. "She was chipping away at my Aura faster than I'd expected, and I panicked and went with my gut, alright? I did what I had to do to secure victory, and I knew that I could justify it to Ironwood later if I won."

"That's a crock of _bullshit_ , Jack," Winter hissed, and Weiss barely restrained a gasp of surprise, both at the vulgarity and the venom in her tone. "You're a tactician, and you've got a better head on your shoulders than that - _I know_ you're better than that. So why the hell did you do it?!"

"Maybe I'm _not_ better than that, Winter," the soldier shot back impatiently. "The fact that we met at all, let alone under the circumstances that we did, is proof that I'm pretty damned fallible. I'm no Huntsman, or I wouldn't be here - and after the shit that I've gone through _instead_ , I'm sure as hell not going to pander to the conventions of an upper class that treats my brothers and sisters and I as _sub-human_."

"You're trying to piss me off and dodge the issue with old arguments, Jack," Winter growled in frustration, "Just help me understand and _tell me the truth_."

"I did it for _you_ , Winter!" he finally snapped.

"You did it for me?!" she demanded instantly, "You made a mockery of my teachings and the entire institution of formalized dueling in front of my family and our commanding officer _for me_? Oh, how could I be so blind and ingracious - thank you _so_ much for your efforts, Jack!"

"I got Ironwood off your back!" the soldier shouted back, and silenced reined for a time, but Weiss dared not try to look out. "Did you notice during the debrief how he zeroed in on me? How he ripped apart every aspect of my tactics and fighting style without looking to you even once in accusation for my actions?"

"I'm sure that he was too dumbfounded by your sheer audacity," Winter scoffed, but even then sounded hesitant.

"Ironwood is a pragmatist with a known preference for straightforward and decisive strategy and tactics in the face of all opposition, conventional or not," he pressed on, "I have staying power in spades-"

"Humility, too," Weiss whispered to herself with a roll of her eyes,

"-And in that match, I also had raw strength over Weiss. I've been learning from you for a few months now; and the fact that, even in spite of our time, I was still willing and able to fall back on my basic training and combat experience removes any immediate suspicion that you have been using our time in your home to indoctrinate me to your father's agenda."

"That's quite a stretch, I must say," Winter commented dryly.

"But it's exactly the length that Ironwood would stretch to in terms of military politicking," the soldier rebutted with mounting confidence. "It can be taken any of a few ways. The simplest conclusion would be that I'm slow on the uptake in respect to regular teaching, which cements my character as nothing more than an above-average shock trooper that you happened across in the right place at the right time. Or, I could have thrown the match for any number of reasons. To please Ironwood, to spite your family; I could've even done any of the above at your order, which detracts from or even removes any doubt that you're in your father's pocket. Your reputation ostensibly takes a hit, but to anyone thinking deeper, you're above suspicion - be it by your flaws or your forethought."

The air was silent and still for several beats, and Weiss took the opportunity to contemplate the options for herself. She didn't get far, however, before her sister finally spoke again.

"... I'm incredibly disturbed by how adept you've grown at Atlesian politics," Winter sighed, and Weiss heard the click of her sister's heels - likely stepping back away from the soldier as her temper cooled in the face of sound - if dubious - logic. "On the other hand, you could have simply ad-libbed that entire speech out of sheer desperation to escape my wrath," she added with a touch of wry humor to her voice.

"Alas, nothing escapes the astounding depths of your perception," the soldier marveled dramatically, "You are truly my superior in all respects, oh great and knowledgeable Specialist Schnee."

"Shut up, Jack," Winter snapped back without malice. "You're off the hook - for now. But don't think that this is getting you out of a remedial training session tomorrow."

"Ack! My wounds! I cannot go on!"

As the pair descended into banter, Weiss took the opportunity to slip away from her hiding place and back down the hall, returning immediately to her room to contemplate the exchange, a small smile playing across her lips despite herself.

He was still an asshole… But he was at least looking out for Winter better than Weiss could hope to under the circumstances. And whatever his motive, he _had_ indirectly squeezed a few words of approval from their father.

… But he was still an asshole, and certainly not worthy of her sister's hypothetical affection.

Lying in bed, staring up at the blank ceiling above her bed, Weiss paled and balked at the thought that had just crossed her mind, and immediately smushed a pillow over her face to try and smother her own scandalous mental images of Winter and her subordinate, the cunning and roguish Legionnaire known as Jonathan "Jack" Amsel-

She screamed wordlessly into the pillow as her treasonous thoughts spiraled further into the night.

* * *

 **Part Two End.**

* * *

 **So, full disclosure - this is my first formal individual attempt to write fanfiction (with the intent to post) in over three years. My last piece was a piddly little one-shot for Code Geass back in 2014, which was completed in a few hours with no real planning beforehand, or revision after the fact.**

 **I strive to do better, and this "trailer" - closer to a character short, I suppose - represents a personal commitment to following through on promises years in the making to provide quality content that I can enjoy and feel satisfied in writing, and that you all can enjoy reading.**

 **The full story attached to this short is a RWBY Alternate Universe (AU) piece that I started planning in May of 2017, and that I hope to have well under way by the same time in 2018; that is, if not mostly completed, then at the very least fully planned out and on track to completion. The story, _To Serve With Honor_ , follows a Jaune Arc who is two years older than his canon peers, is rejected by Beacon two years before the canon cast, and rather than returning home in shame; mails Crocea Mors back to his parents, and catches an airship from Vale to Atlas to enlist in the Atlas Foreign Legion. **

**The story is a specific-yet-minor nod/tribute to _The_ _Legionnaire_ by Mister Cynical - who is one of my favorite Fanfiction authors in general because of his advanced devil-may-care style of writing militaristic fiction - and will focus on exploring class and race dynamics in my own take on Atlas, as well as the interplay between Atlas's pseudo-fascist regime and the ruthlessly controlled and declassed population of the now-defunct Kingdom/Empire of Mantle. ****I will also attempt to explore themes relevant to proxy wars and insurgency - particularly the notion of taking a human life as seen from regular military and Huntsman perspectives, and issues such as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) as associated with combat - viewed through the eyes of a short list of primary characters: Jaune Arc, Winter Schnee, and James Ironwood. There will also be short segments - such as this trailer - with outsider perspectives, namely: Weiss Schnee, Yang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen, and Glynda Goodwitch (this list may expand or shrink as time goes on and planning is finalized).**

 **Yes, that is quite a daunting list of fairly serious themes, and I will be endeavoring to abide by them to the best of my writing ability. That said, even in creating this ten-thousand-word "character short", I found myself cutting at least four to five thousand words of what amounted to Warm-And-Fuzzy-Feels (WAFF), fan service, and nigh-unapologetic shipping or ship-bait; you might also notice that the ending for this section is a humorous bit of Weiss's imagination going wild that I just couldn't bring myself to part with.**

 **Seriously, check out the production notes on my profile under this story's listing, because that's where I'll be putting the basic gist of my writing process and what I ended up cutting from the final product. Long story short, even if it only comes in the form of omakes or side stories, there will be good feels, fluffy stuff, and shipping of all kinds.**

 **A disclaimer: Jonathan "Jumping Jack" Amsel as he is shown here is obviously _not_ your canon Jaune Arc. The first thing that the Atlas Foreign Legion will do here is suppress the crap out of Canon!Jaune until the only thing left - for a time - is Jack Amsel. One of Winter's big roles is to recognize a little bit of Jack and a little bit of Jaune, empathize with his/their/the internal conflict, and strive to help bring balance between the two. Whether the road to recovery just involves a few therapy sessions, or a full-blown identity crisis, well... You'll just have to come back and see which direction I point this train in.**

 **And finally, I really can't offer enough thanks to my good friend Crosswire, who has been nothing but patient and supportive in offering feedback, words of encouragement, or just taking the time to listen while I bounce ideas off of him to see which ones stick, and which ones sound best to me on the rebound. He's also my informal balance, and is not afraid to let me know when he thinks that the story's getting unnecessarily edgy or bleak. He has a couple of different really cool anime role play forums on the site, as well as a bunch of neat ideas and a lot of talent to make them happen with a good crowd of players and the right support.**

 **I'm dragging on at this point, so I'll wrap it up here with one last little note: Be on the lookout in the next few days for one final addition to this trailer. It'll give you another little taste of what I have in store in respect to shenanigans and fluff, and I just couldn't bear to let it go unappreciated in a side-doc after I chose to end the short here as I did.**

 **Stay frosty, people.**

 **-Knightmare Frame Razgriz**


	3. Part Three - Closure

**Part 3 - Closure**

The Schnee sisters soon found themselves in their usual pavilion, watching with as the soldier walked along the perimeter fence in the distance, a Scroll tablet in one arm as he walked at a glacial pace and alternated between staring down at the frozen dirt and staring up at the top of the fence.

"I can't help but feel a little bad about this," Weiss finally broke the companionable silence after taking a sip from a glass of water and tearing her gaze from the solitary soldier.

"I don't," Winter replied without missing a beat. "He does this more often than I care to admit. The worst part is that I can never tell how much of it is premeditated, and how much he makes up on the spot and still manages to get away with and look smug about." She took a sip from her own cup of tea and continued glaring daggers at the soldier, who at that moment tripped and face planted into a small patch of snow.

After his actions during the duel, Winter had been all but forced to censure her subordinate, lest she face even further displeasure from their father. And so, the victorious Corporal was consigned to walk the perimeter of the Schnee Estate, cataloguing possible points of entry for review by their father's private security contractor.

After a few more moments of observation, Winter exhaled and looked at Weiss, parting her bangs and meeting her eyes with a remorseful gaze. "Weiss, I must apologize for my behavior over these last several weeks."

Weiss looked back with a quizzical expression. "What do you mean, Winter? If anything, I should be apologizing for allowing my emotions to get the better of me-"

"No, Weiss," Winter cut her off sternly, "You acted rightfully out of frustration because I have done nothing but unjustly belittle you progress, while lavishing all of my praise upon Corporal Amsel; not only was it unfair of me, but it was simply wrong."

Weiss knew better than to interrupt as Winter carried on. "Weiss, since I last saw you over a year ago, you have grown in leaps and bounds as an aspiring Huntress, and as a person. You've stood by your aspirations, even in the face of Father's disapproval, and bested everything that he has thrown at you without backing down, and for that I am truly proud of you," the older woman offered a small, genuine smile, at which Weiss's face lit up with joy, only to fall as Winter grew somber once more as she looked back to the soldier on his patrol.

"I told you before that it wasn't my place to speak of Corporal Amsel and my reasons for choosing him as I have; but I have since been made aware that that my own sense of caution in that respect was excessive and misguided. Know, however, that the information that I relate to you now is done so in the strictest confidence." She paused, and Weiss realized that she was awaiting a response; the younger Schnee nodded quickly, and Winter sighed.

"Beneath the Corporal's enigmatic and summarily aggravating exterior, lies a traumatized and scared young man who left home and enlisted with the Atlas Foreign Legion for the same reasons that I fled from this house years ago: Because he failed to live up to the standards and expectations established by his heritage; and instead of returning in shame, chose to stay away and take one last shot at achieving greatness.

"We fled to the same place. He came with a brilliant mind, and just as much potential as I ever had once. He was a bit more naive, but if anything, that fact allowed him to aspire to greater ends. The only difference between him and I... is the place that we were born," Winter looked down at the table. "But in Atlas, as you well know, that is the only difference that matters." Weiss nodded sadly in understanding.

"When I first met Jonathan Amsel, the Legion had not gotten to him yet. He was still... Intact; unvarnished, glowing with the light of hopes and dreams that I am so eternally joyous and thankful to see in you," Winter smiled; it was a small, sad little thing, which took on a wry tinge at the edges. "Of course, the personality that came with the rest of the package left something to be desired, but we can't have everything, I suppose," the elder Schnee shrugged.

A small part of Weiss wanted desperately to point out how much the story sounded like a first meeting with a lover; it was quashed by discipline, which knew better than to interrupt Winter in the midst of an emotional story.

"I wish I could say that he was the ideal warrior from square one, but I would be lying through my teeth. His first instinct was to cower, his ability with firearms was sub-par, and he was the clumsiest "explosives expert" that I had ever seen," Weiss paled slightly at the thought as Winter laughed heartily, "But when a man was down or a job needed to be done that he could do, he was fighting and running through the fire with the rest of them. And in a different time, in a different place, and with the proper education... I have no doubt in my mind that that young man would have made a first-rate Huntsman one day."

"... So then, what happened? What changed?" Weiss asked after a moment of silence.

"The Legion happened," Winter grimaced as she replied, "Corporal Amsel had the choice to adapt or die; and he made the logical choice. But when I saw him again, I barely recognized him; and I was almost certain that the Legion had taken yet another promising young soul, and corrupted it beyond salvation.

"But then," her eyes clouded over as she stared off into the skies through the tempered glass skylights of the pavilion, "He did something that made me realize that his light was still there, somewhere. He was cracked, and tarnished, and haunted by experiences that had driven stronger men to the brink and beyond; but the Legion hadn't completely broken him, yet. And I knew that if I didn't get him out of there as soon as I possibly could, I would spend the rest of my days living with the knowledge and the guilt that I had left a young man with boundless potential for greatness to waste away and die under the crushing weight of Atlas's sins."

Weiss didn't want to ask. She sat in for a small eternity in silence, staring at the tops of her hands, contemplating the information that she had already been given, considering just how much trust she had in Winter's experience and judgement.

She didn't _want_ to ask. She _had_ to ask.

"What did he do?"

"He killed three men," Winter answered without missing a beat, and watched as Weiss choked on thin air and fought for words. "He took three lives," she continued, undaunted, "To save seventeen more, including mine. And then he turned around and spared four more when he by all accounts had no need to, and by all logic should not have.

"And then I pulled every string that I could reach to get him out of there the next day, knowing that if he stayed, the Legion would be the death of him very, very soon."

The Schnee sisters sat quietly for several minutes after that. Weiss found her breath, but knew that she had no words to offer. Winter had already made her decision; she had committed to her mission, and on her honor - as a soldier, and a Schnee - she would save this man's life.

* * *

 **Part 3 End**

 **End White Trailer**

* * *

 **Important Clarification**

 **To hopefully stave off further reviews addressed to the inclusion of Jaune's tag in the story. I thought I had covered this, but I now recognize that I only hinted at it and glossed over it, and only discussed it in detail in parts that I ultimately cut out.**

 **(Goes to show why Beta readers are an incredibly beneficial asset to writers who are in a hurry.)**

 **In the French Foreign Legion - the organization upon which the Atlas Foreign Legion is based - it is acceptable, and even in some cases encouraged, to enlist under an assumed name. The reasoning behind this will be explained in detail in the first or second chapter of _To Serve With Honor_. **

**Jaune tried to give his real name to enlist; however, his recruiting officer warned him against it, and suggested an alternative traditional Mantlese name, Jonathan Amsel, which he blindly accepted, dismissing it as some bizarre military thing that he didn't yet understand. He now lives by this name; he still sees himself as Jaune Arc, but the rest of the Legion and Atlas-at-large know him as Jonathan "Jack" Amsel. There are two or three notable exceptions to this, all of whom represent important plot points later on.**

 **This trailer is written from Weiss's perspective, with elements of third person that are still constrained to what she sees. Therefore, she only sees Corporal Amsel.**

 **The main story will be written from Jaune's perspective, and will naturally refer to him as such, barring certain incidents associated with yet another plot point down the line.**

 **I do apologize for this confusion caused by own failure of communication, and offer my sincere thanks to those individuals who took the time to review and offer their thoughts on the matter. I'll be taking from this an important lesson in pacing my revision and release schedules based on how effectively I can vet my own work without the immediate aid of a beta.**

* * *

 **Omake**

* * *

Winter's final day of leave came far too soon. Jacques insisted that they should host some sort of going away party, a proposal which Winter vehemently rejected in the most dignified manner that she could. When Jacques attempted to turn the tables by using the soldier as an excuse, both parties were puzzled to find that the young man had managed to surreptitiously escape without either of them noticing.

Weiss took it upon herself to locate the escapee as her sister and father persisted in their argument.

She didn't have to look far, and found him a few halls away, leaning back against a wall and admiring a painting of a snowy mountain pass.

"The Ammer Saddle," he spoke pensively, and Weiss wasn't sure if he was speaking to himself or her until he turned and allowed a single cobalt iris to flick in her direction. "The gateway between the Atlesian inlands and the barren farmlands of Old Mantle." He turned back to look fully at the painting, and Weiss also moved in to take a closer look, only to find that the frame was unlabeled.

"How did you know?" she asked, searching the canvas for a watermark or title.

"I was stationed there for two months," he answered, shoving off of the wall and meandering over to stand directly in front of the painting. He stuffed one hand into his pocket and raised the other, tracing a finger over two arbitrary spots on either side of the wide, shadowed valley. "The area is a free-fire zone manned by the Foreign Legion, with two fire bases positioned on either side, and rows and rows of sharpened steel Dragon's Teeth stretching between them across the valley floor. Stupid things are a waste of resources and maintenance hours, since they're completely buried for most of the year, but the only other options would be to place landmines that would just get set off under pressure from heavy snowfall, or to stretch a defensive line across the valley floor and reduce our fields of fire to the point of being completely useless." He paused a moment and stared hard at the landscape, and Weiss didn't quite manage to read him before he closed up again, his lips twisting into that damnable teasing grin.

"Sorry, Snowflake; this beautiful painting had me waxing nostalgic. What's up?"

Weiss ground her teeth in frustration, both at the infuriating nickname and the excessively casual manner of speech. "You ran off while Father and Winter were discussing Winter's going away party; I took it upon myself to ensure that were not running amok in the estate."

The soldier snickered unrepentantly. "I'm trained to _avoid_ crossfires, Snowflake, not walk into them. And you should loosen up; what's the worst I could possibly do in this place?"

"Please stop calling me that," she exhaled deeply from her nose. "And you could further embarrass yourself, or - even worse - further embarrass Winter."

He didn't even have the decency to look sheepish, and in fact grinned even wider. "Aww, you're worried about lil' old me? That's real sweet of you, Snowflake. But you don't have to; I got what I wanted out of that little spar, and from the sounds of it, so did you. So, provided there's no hard feelings about the whole shotgun-to-the-chest thing," he swept forward in a mockery of a bow, offering one hand in a conciliatory gesture, the other held against the small of his back as he grinned up at her like the cat that ate the canary.

"There are indeed 'hard feelings,' Mister Amsel," Weiss growled, but against her better judgement, reached out and accepted the proffered hand daintily, "However, a Schnee is above such pretty grudges."

She gasped in shock as he captured her hand and pulled, spinning her around and into his grasp until her back was pressed against his solid chest. "I thought it would be above a Schnee to lie about such trivial things, Weiss," he whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

"I-I-" she stuttered ineffectually; she felt the heat creeping up her neck and spreading rapidly through her face as she tried feverishly not to think about the six feet of lean, whipcord muscle holding her tightly in his arms...

"CORPORAL!" To her mounting horror, Weiss barely restrained a moan of disappointment as the soldier uncoiled himself, slowly and deliberately, and stepped back to face the raging storm of Winter as the Specialist's footsteps rang out like gunshots, up until she was standing nose-to-nose with him and glaring hellfire. And yet, the man met his impending doom head-on with admirable bearing, even as the corner of his mouth remained fixed at just the right angle to indicate his amusement without verifiable evidence. "What do you think you're doing with my baby sister?" Winter demanded sharply.

"Verifying that there are no hard feelings and burying the hatchet, ma'am," the soldier reported snappily. Weiss squeaked and very nearly fainted from embarrassment at the - very deliberate - word choice and metaphor, and Winter ground her teeth, obviously knowing that she could prove nothing.

"Walk the perimeter and catalogue possible points of surface, subterranean, and below-radar aerial infiltration," the Specialist finally growled, "I will expect a detailed memorandum, complete with GPS coordinates and annotations, by eighteen hundred hours tonight."

"Ma'am," the soldier stepped back and snapped off a sharp salute, which Winter returned aggressively; he then turned smoothly on his heel, and started off at a sedate, dignified clip in the opposite direction.

"DOUBLE TIME, AMSEL!" Winter barked fiercely, and the soldier stepped up to a swift jog, his heavy footfalls echoing even after he turned the next corner.

Once he was out of sight and earshot, Winter sighed heavily and turned back to Weiss, who remained rooted in the same spot throughout the entire exchange, her gaze absently tracking the soldier's backside until he had disappeared. "Weiss," Winter said softly. No response. "Weiss!" she snapped her fingers in front of the younger girl's face, "WEISS!"

"Wah?!" Weiss started, only to grow even redder as she realized what had just happened. "W-Winter!"

"I am sorry about him," her sister said tiredly, "I now realize that I liked him better when we first met and he wasn't able to talk to women without putting his foot in his mouth."

"W-what changed that?" Weiss stammered, eagerly seeking a distraction or change in subject.

"Oh, I whipped him into shape," Winter replied nonchalantly. She immediately realized that this was the wrong choice of words when Weiss released another mortified squeak. "I-I mean, I just had to run him down and start from scratch; it took awhile, of course, given his stubbornness and stamina-" Another squeak, and even Winter couldn't help but flush faintly. "Let's take a walk and try to forget this ever happened," she muttered, wrapping an arm around Weiss's shoulders and guiding her as she rebooted.

* * *

In the end, it seemed that Winter had managed to talk Father out of an elaborate going-away party. The compromise, however, had the Schnee family and their guest gathered in one of the smaller formal dining rooms - smaller meaning that the table only seated twenty-four, as opposed to the ballroom arrangement or the grand hall.

The menu was quite literally anything that any of the diners could ever wish to eat, made to order and served on elegant porcelain tableware - the set was imported directly from a craftsman in Mistral, if Weiss recalled correctly.

The Corporal cleaned up quite nicely, she had to admit. In contrast to the crisp white dress uniforms worn regularly by Winter and General Ironwood, Jonathan's Legion uniform was solid black with cobalt trim that carried the added benefit of wonderfully accentuating his eyes-

 _'Danger, danger, cease and desist!'_ Weiss forced herself to mentally backpedal, smoothing imaginary creases in her dress for the umpteenth time that evening.

His coat was of a smart, high-collared tunic style, with one side of the front extending over the other and fastening from his waist up to his neck with small silver buttons. A black patch rested on his right arm at his bicep, bearing two blue chevrons to denote his rank. A small silver pin of the Atlas staff-and-cog was mounted at his right breast, while three small and colorful rectangular badges - ribbons, Winter had once corrected her - sat in line at his left breast, with another dull grey badge of a crossed hatchet and shovel centered above the ribbons.

The uniform was rounded out with a pair of sharply creased dress pants and impeccably shined dress shoes; as well as a black and blue-trimmed "combination" cap, which presently sat in an empty spot on the table off to his right side. His black hair was not long past completely shorn, as well as rather lustrous in the light of the chandeliers, and his face were free of any extraneous growth, accentuating angular features and a sharp jaw-

Weiss tore her eyes away as his own swiveled back to her, accompanied by his damnable smirk, and her cheeks flushed and teeth clenched at having been caught staring... Again.

"Mister Amsel," Her father's voice from down the table startled her back to attentiveness.

"Please sir, just called me John," the soldier requested with a smile, but no further elaboration.

"Very well, Jonathan," Jacques acquiesced coolly; Weiss grinned a bit inside at the Corporal's short twitch of annoyance. "I must admit, I have been curious for some time now. For what reason did you see fit to enlist in the Atlas Foreign Legion? What circumstances brought you to serve with our military?"

"Well, sir-"

"Jacques, please." Winter and Weiss exchanged curious glances; neither could recall their father extending that particular courtesy to any serviceman barring General Ironwood.

"Alright, Jacques," the soldier took the interruption in stride, either through ignorance or indifference. "Well... Growing up, I always wanted to leave my mark on the world - live up to a certain family legacy, which I'm sure you folks can at least somewhat understand." Jacques and his children all nodded. "I mean, growing up in a house with two relatively renowned parents, and seven incredibly talented and accomplished older siblings-"

 _'Seven siblings?!'_ Weiss mouthed silently to Winter, who nodded faintly in affirmation.

"-I guess in hindsight, it might've been less of a goal and more of an inferiority complex." The Corporal gave a short, awkward chuckle, to which Jacques nodded amicably and motioned him to continue. "That being said, it reached a point where by the time I graduated from a normal secondary school in my home town, I was more than a little desperate to set things in motion and have something to show for all of my... Wasted, teenage years."

"From the sounds of it, you had a stretch of relatively average formative years with a completed education to show for it already," Jacques observed with some amusement in his voice, "Why the rush?"

"Youthful naivety, impatience, and the inferiority complex again," Jonathan rumbled sheepishly. "Anyway, my family was nothing but supportive. University, a trade, an average nine-to-five job, they didn't care what I did so long as it made me happy. Barring one, notable exception: An endeavor in which they would neither help, nor hinder, and which I'd dreamed of since I was a little kid, growing up and hearing stories of the deeds of my heroic ancestors. You might be familiar with my parents' dilemma, Jacques?"

Jacques considered the puzzle a moment, chewing it over with a bite of his choice cut sirloin steak, and reaching the answer along with a sip from his pint of dark stout. "You wanted to be a Huntsman," he stated with a wry smile.

"Got it in one," the younger man nodded. "But, I knew it was a pipe dream. No training, no support - I was doomed from the start just from where and how I grew up, and I just didn't have the resources or the patience to have a go at it from square one at that point. But, the military on the other hand... Well, I'll first admit that I've always been a bit of an idealist. And the longer I considered it, the more I recognized: Defending humanity from the Grimm is one thing, but the institution of the Huntsman Academies? It's just so... Mercenary."

Weiss caught the glint in her father's eye as he nodded agreeably, and suddenly realized what the Corporal was playing at.

"Roaming across Remnant from one backwater hole to another with no real rhyme or reason except for a list of contracts with a Lien sum tied to them - well, where's the logic in it? A Huntsman on average has no other consistent and dependable source of income; so by the basic principles of economics and human behavior, he's gonna seek to maximize his profits by going straight for the highest paying contract, right? Well, where does that leave the people on the bottom end of the pay scale who are left to contend with their problems alone with whatever they can scrounge together?"

Jonathan paused again for a bite of salad, and then looked in her direction. "Please don't mistake me, Weiss. I know a number of Huntsmen and Huntresses - I'm even related to several of them - whom I hold in the highest regard. Outstanding people with an incredibly useful skill set and an unparalleled moral compass, and I'm certain that your own education will yield a great many benefits, as well as invaluable perspective for wherever the winds may take you one day." He shot her a wink that she almost thought herself to have imagined, if not for the barely audible growl from Winter across the table.

"With that in mind, I thought: What about military service? Well, Vale's armed forces are basically a border guard with a few smatterings here and there of patrols through farmlands and Bullheads checking up on distant isolated observation posts. Mistral is a bit more respectable, with a big and modern standing navy; but the entire force is basically divvied up between famous commanders, who are in turn a bunch of puppets to the leading families of the kingdom. And then, with Vacuo..." He trailed off with a short cough of discomfort. "The less that's said about Vacuo, the better."

Winter and Jacques both nodded succinctly in agreement.

"With Menagerie's territorial guard being exclusive to Faunus, that left Atlas. Which I should probably have started with, I realized; especially since, on paper, Atlas is the only kingdom with any actual immigration policy tied to its military, period. Not only that, but a bunch of this kingdom's civil services are tied in with the military, making service the best way to reach a public office besides being born - or stumbling - into a lot of money, resources, or services to offer to the government. Now, I will confess that at the time I was weighing my options, I wasn't _terribly_ familiar with the Foreign Legion's reputation," the Corporal offered a candid shrug, "So I was more interested in the fact that the Atlas military is also considered one of the most proven meritocracies in the kingdoms.

"And, in the end; I suppose that the results speak for themselves, given that I find myself dining here at your table tonight," Jonathan concluded, finishing off the last bit of his own flank steak, and washing it down with the last dregs of a tumbler of whisky and a sip of water.

"I suppose they do," Jacques agreed, downing the remainder of his pint of ale. "You seem to have quite the analytical mind, Jonathan; and certainly an inspiring tale for James to spin for his next public relations campaign," he added the last bit in a stage-whisper, his lips curling into a conspiratorial grin.

While Winter met the look with a lidded stare of consternation, the Corporal returned a warm chuckle. "I think he's already pulled my signature from my enlistment contracts for a book deal," he whispered back, earning a short bark of hearty laughter from Jacques.

* * *

Dinner was cleared, and the present company enjoyed a round of rich desserts before parting for the evening. Whitley disappeared off to his rooms, while - to Weiss's great surprise - her father and the Corporal exchanged a few more pleasantries over the remnants of a decanter of scotch before Jacques retired to his office.

In the meantime, Weiss and Winter were left to their own devices, and ultimately opted to observe the two amicably conversing men from the next room.

"I'm honestly shocked," Weiss commented from her seat on a hallway bench as she peered through the doors into the sitting room that her father had selected. "I can't think of the last time that Father even offered so much as a passing word, let alone an entire conversation, to such a... Low-born individual," she finally settled on the phrase awkwardly.

Winter took a seat beside her, and scoffed lightly as she leaned back against the window sill behind them. "He's schmoozing. They both are, actually; each recognizes the potential for future benefit in even a basic acquaintance."

"But... What does Father even have to gain from him?"

"A new and unique 'in' with the Atlas military," Winter sighed. "It's a long shot, of course; but he recognizes that Corporal Amsel is a particularly charming and charismatic individual, in his own humble way; and just look at where charisma and a keen mind have gotten General Ironwood over the years. As for the Corporal, I have apparently made the mistake of teaching him enough about politics that he, in turn, recognizes the benefit of having a direct and personal connection to the President of the SDC. What he might think to do with that connection, on the other hand, I haven't the faintest clue."

"... Aren't you mad about this?" Weiss turned to look at her sister with a puzzled glance.

"That our father is making nice with my subordinate, who not even a week ago sucker punched you in the stomach during a formal duel? At this point, I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop," Winter snorted in amusement.

"What do you mean?"

"He is scheming, and I am waiting for it to come back to me."

"Father, or Corporal Amsel?"

"Yes." Winter smiled at Weiss's huff of frustration at the wordplay.

* * *

Winter's scheduled departure finally arrived unreasonably early the next morning. Weiss was awakened at her own request by a servant to see her sister off, and by the time that she had groggily freshened up, dressed, and arrived at the private landing pad hanging off of the rooftop atrium of the manor, Winter and Jonathan were waiting beside the open ramp of an Atlesian military Skyhawk troopship, their bags already stowed as they stood with matching smirks of amusement at her uncharacteristically lethargic gait. In fact, she was so incognizant that she completely failed to recognize the imminent danger until it had already walked around her, and gripped her by the waist.

"Wakey wakey, Snowflakey~!" Jonathan sing-songed as he lifted Weiss and spun her around with him, laughing at the girl's squawk of surprise and subsequent wails of indignity.

"Jack, put her down and get in the ship," Winter ordered with a long-suffering sigh, still not moving from her position beside the ramp. The Corporal chose to comply by carrying Weiss by the waist over to the foot of the ramp before setting her down in front of Winter and releasing her.

"Have fun at Beacon, Snowflake! Don't forget to write!" he called back over his shoulder as he ascended the ramp and moved to the front of the craft.

Weiss merely huffed angrily and looked up at Winter with a pout on her lips. "One moment he's trying to seduce me, and the next, he's acting like the overly energetic brother that I never wanted," she grumbled tiredly. Winter laughed and rested her hands on her hips.

"Don't worry; he'll probably be back to trying to sweep you off your feet in front of a crowd of people the next time you see him," she replied placatingly. Weiss nodded her head absently until her brain finally processed her sister's words, at which point she blushed to the roots of her hair and began stammering rapidly. "I'm joking, Weiss," Winter added unconvincingly, wrapping her arms around Weiss's shoulders and pulling her in for a hug.

Weiss hugged her back with yet another embarrassed huff, and the siblings remained that way for a few moments.

"I love you, Winter," Weiss finally broke the silence with a whisper. "... And I forgive you."

Winter smiled down into Weiss's hair and squeezed her briefly. "Thank you, Weiss. I love you as well."

The sisters separated shortly after, but Winter hesitated in boarding the ship; until Jonathan returned to the head of the ramp, and made a gesture with his hand imitating a Scroll call. Winter nodded and finally ascended, looking back to Weiss with a smile and a brief wave. Weiss returned both, only to frown again as the Corporal came back down to the edge of the ramp and stood before her.

"Good luck at Beacon, Weiss," he offered with an earnest smile, holding a hand out to shake. Weiss looked down at the appendage suspiciously for a long moment, before slowly reaching out and accepting it. It was a firm, polite handshake.

 _'Why don't I learn?!'_ she cried out in her mind as Jack bowed low and planted a soft kiss against her knuckles, returning her to a blushing mess.

 _"CORPORAL! STOP HARASSING MY SISTER AND GET BACK IN HERE!"_ Winter's enraged shout echoed across the atrium, and the young man quickly retreated up the ramp, closing it once he had reached the top. Weiss managed to step back as the Skyhawk lit its thrusters, the jet wash blowing back across the large space for a few moments before the craft rose and shot off into the waning night sky.

"Insufferable hormones..." Weiss grumbled quietly as she turned and trudged back into the manor, her cheeks maintaining a soft pink hue.

* * *

 **For previous viewers, I can only offer profuse apologies for the mix-up involved with this section. For fresh readers, I hope to see you all over in the main story of _To Serve With Honor_.  
**

 **-Knightmare Frame Razgriz**


	4. Announcement: Main Story Published

**Hello all,**

 **KMF here, and I am proud to announce that within a few short minutes of this announcement's release, the proper Prologue for** ** _To Serve With Honor_** **will either be posted, or have already been posted, and should appear for public viewing shortly.**

 **I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed with feedback on Jaune's characterization; I've taken it all into consideration, and have modified thusly his character and interactions within the main story, as well as establishing defining lines between Jaune Arc and Jack Amsel. It'll be a real trip, let me tell you.**

 **Also according to this feedback,** **I have formerly designated _most_ of Part 3 of this trailer as Omake.** **As was stated in the previous edits, I made the decision to post it in haste, and have since concluded that the characterizations are just completely wrong for the mood that I intend for the main work. So rest assured that there will be no smooth-talking lady's man soldier charming circles around a beleaguered Weiss Schnee. I have enacted this change by updating Part 3, which you've probably been alerted to already.**

 **With all of that business out of the way, I would like to officially invite you all to check out the main story,** ** _To Serve With Honor_** **. I thank you all again for your support and invaluable feedback, and I look forward to seeing you over there.**

 **Best Regards,  
Knightmare Frame Razgriz**

* * *

 **EDIT (16 Feb, 2018) - Amended the underlined statement to reflect an error on my part regarding the decision on Part 3 - which has also been edited _again_ (sorry!) to amend a mistake based on an observation from a reviewer. Thanks, garoorar! **


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